Happy Birthday, Mom

Born on New Year's Eve, 1931, Mom would have been 82 today. Looking back through old photos, I am continually astonished over how beautiful she was. 

These are scanned and cropped from tiny black & white photos so their quality isn't the best. This is Mom in the spring of 1956. Probably taken in their apartment in Denver.

Not sure when or where this pic was taken. Looks like date night to me! Mom and Dad are to the left, seated on the hearth. Mom's sister, Mamie, and her husband Carl are in the rocking chair.

If I'm a femme fatale or have traces of the dreaded drama queen in me, clearly this came straight from my mom.

Somewhere up in the mountains in Colorado, a rare shot of my parents when they were dating.

Wassup, Renpure?

I've been using Renpure hair products for a couple of years now. I like how they leave my hair manageable and shiny and healthy and don't contain lots of nasty ingredients. But just today I noticed that they have changed their labeling from organics to originals. What does this mean? I can't do a before and after comparison until/if I buy a new bottle of intense conditioner. When I think about it, the shampoo doesn't smell coconutty like it used to. But I don't remember when that happened. Hmm. 
   

Einstein as Gandalf

You! Shall! Not! Pass! Unless you happen to have tuna in your pocket. Then maybe. Give me the tuna!!!

Beery Christmas

Reid presented me with a six-pack of Sam Adams Winter Lager for Christmas. His first alcohol purchase. For which he was carded for the first time. I really do love having a 21yo. And I love this beer. I receive not one teensy bit of compensation for extolling the virtues of this brew in this space. Not that I would argue with the Sam Adams people should they attempt to do so. Much. Twist my arm! Ow! Enough already!

She Even Has Pink Solstice Dishes!

The table is set for Christmas Eve dinner. There are actual dinner buns that I baked all wrapped up in the basket. The roasted chicken and stuffing were most delicious, as was the broccoli. It's almost time to put the festive dishes and decorations away. Sigh. Holidays. So much anticipated and so quickly in the past. 

Man in the Moon

Hmmmm, it was overcast and snowing here so I missed this. Santa's kinda big for an elf, don't you think?

If I Were a Better Mother, I Would Remember What Year This Was.......

From Now On, My Son, Yes, Indeedy

Mom? If we call the day before Christmas Christmas Eve, then do we call the day after Christmas Christmas Adam?

Meanwhile, Back in the Ladies Room

Clearly this is the men's room. They make the ladies walk further. But to make up for the longer, more arduous journey, particularly when you consider it is taken with a full bladder, there is a space heater making the one-seater nice and toasty.

Well, hey, of course he's all perky and interested. Women are showing up all day, closing and locking the door, and dropping their drawers. 

Talk about the light being down low.

Holly's Fabulous Birthday Party

I suppose this could be called the before shot, but I neglected to snap an after shot at the end of the evening. You will notice that birthday girl, Holly, has already begun celebrating with her hand on Lee's knee.

We have been transported from my living room to the Bushnell Garage. Small town dive bars are the absolute best.

Locals showing a range of emotions over us non-locals taking up all the bar stools.

Lots of interesting stuff on the walls, including a locational sign should you forget where you are.

Holly getting to know the legendary Bushnell Garage stone. She is now immune to all infectious diseases known to medical science.

More of the local flavor on display behind the bar.

Oooh! We have moved on to the dinner portion of the evening. Acting as her own sommelier, or whatever the beer counterpart is to that position, Holly chooses a brewski from the bucket.

A veritable rainbow of beers. From left to right we have ale, wheat, and stout.

I just couldn't resist one more shot of behind-the-bar paraphernalia. Yes, since you were so kind to ask, all of us were safely delivered home at the conclusion of festivities. 

Holiday Jam & Day Old Bread

A more traditional sort of memento from a concert would be a ticket or program. Perhaps a CD or autographed set list. Quite unexpectedly, from my chair in the front row at Holiday Jam last evening, I was beaned from the stage by Mr. Jeremy Hegg with a crusty old dinner roll. Which the band members then most graciously signed for me. I wonder if they do this at all the shows. I have decided to feel special anyway. Eventually this bun will likely take up a place of dubious honor on top of the china cabinet with a certain cupcake. Like I have said in this space before, envy my life.

Dancin' By the Tree

I ran across this holiday photo of brother Cullen from the days when we were roommates in the State Avenue duplex. Going on five years since his death I am finding I laugh first and tear up second when I see a picture of him. He was such a goofball. 

Holiday Jam 5

I don't know how I managed to keep quiet about this. Holiday Jam, Brookings edition, starts in a mere two and a half hours! Be there!

Lunch Conversation

Reid made lunch. Hot dogs with Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash. Reid also provided entertainment with an extemporaneous reading of the soda bottle label...

Reid: Lemon lime soda with cranberry flavor.

Me: But there's no cranberry in it.

Reid: That's what it says, lemon lime soda with cranberry flavor, more like lemon lime soda with LIES! 100% natural flavor, such as LIES! Caffeine free, that's not a lie. Can I go now?

Me: Would you like LIES! with that?

Medium-Sized Rant

I work on not taking things personally. I recognize that the world does not revolve around me and my needs. I am willing to extend the benefit of the doubt almost to a fault, particularly to those I care about. And I possess a terrific sense of humor. As long as the spirit is one of fun, I can get on that bus with no problem. But this is different. The damn scale at the clinic weighed me in at eleven pounds heavier than my home scale. Eleven pounds! I can understand a couple of pounds given clothing and food and drink consumption. But eleven freaking pounds! The nurse was dismissive of my protest and entered the inflated weight on my records. Is this some sort of camera scale that adds tennish pounds? To compound (pun not intended) this, an hour later whilst attired in paper clothing I was informed by my doc that men hit on me not because I am attractive and intelligent and witty, but simply due to hormones on the part of the man and the fact that I have a vagina! I put on my clothes (including my jeans, a miracle considering that extra eleven pounds), drove home and crawled into a glass of wine and three episodes of Glee. I have since regained my signature sassy self-assured demeanor. But please! There is more to me than the (erroneous) number on the clinic scale and the fact that I have lady parts!

I Protest!

They sent me some forms to fill out for my doc appointment tomorrow. I complied. I did note on this one just a couple of extra things. That the patient protests the use of the term geriatric in reference to her. Meaning me. And that she, again, me, also protests being limited to a mere yes or no. I even called the last one a trick question. Just to be difficult. And to give them an idea of how sharp I still am. Sometimes a yes or no simply does not do. So if they score this on how cooperative the patient is I'm probably in trouble. What's new with you?

Procrastination 101

As if it weren't enough to clean and decorate for the holidays, I chose to add to the insanity by completely rearranging the living room furniture. And I have to get three packages in the mail tomorrow. And I'm still in my flannel jammies. Clearly it's time to get a glass of wine, put my feet up and finish up viewing the last three episodes of Glee, Season 4. Do I know how to procrastinate in style, or what?

Busload of Fun

No, I cannot accurately quantify precisely how much fun can be contained in a single busload. There must be some sort of formula involving sparkly accessories, high heels, alcohol percentage, fancy perfume and an all around festive mood that would help us arrive at such a numerical designation. You do the math. What is more important is that you are on the fun bus in the first place. Along with a Grinchbag full of wine. 

I Ask You, How Gorgeous Are We?

Just a few of the other extremely attractive couples we dined and drank and danced with last night. Yes, I warned them that I blog and that these photos would be all over the interwebs within twenty-four hours. Out of respect for their privacy you will see that there are no names mentioned. What happens at Minerva's and the El Riad Shrine stays there.

Clean Up Well Dept.

The I-can't-believe-I'm-out-with-three-gorgeous-women-all-at-the-same-time Lee with Holly, Tami and me last night. Somebody must have been extra good this year. 

Friday the 13th

It seems that I have a date this Friday night. One man, definitely three, perhaps four women. Shut off your kinky alarm. This is a lovely invite from a friend, the odd divorced guy who often hangs out with us pariah-type divorced gals. Dinner. Dancing. Sorta dress-uppy, too. Designated driven as well. Meaning wine on the bus! This should be fun. 

I'm a DI

I took a test today. Not one that you can study for. One of those personality thingys. I personic says that I'm a Dreamy Idealist. I always thought I was more of a pragmatic bitch. But I don't think that's one of their results. There really ought to be such a designation. And my picture should be right there next to the personality profile. Seriously.

Road Trip Poem

Rewind

It's not that I'd forgotten

Our three hour conversation

Your voice in my head

From New Mexico

Across the north Texas panhandle

Keeping me company

Making me laugh

Dark of the moon

Stars so very bright

Driving on through the night

Redialing

When the cell signal black holes

Interrupted

What I didn't remember

Was the message that you left

The first time we were cut off

On the second of November

I ran across it

While clearing out my crowded voicemail

Just yesterday

You said your name

And I rejoiced

To unexpectedly hear your voice

Echo in my head

Once again

As Emma Would Say, Because Monkeys

If you have been a reader from day one, or if you've been so compelled by my wit and vocabulary that you found this oasis on the interwebs just last week and have perused its content clear back to the beginning, you are aware that according to some, I have a bad case of monkeys on the brain. And that the postulated scenario of monkeys and typewriters and infinite time allotment will produce works of great literature just plain irritates the crap out of me. The day has arrived, children, where this seems achievable. Why would anyone squander computer time and electricity to arrive at an answer? What possible application beyond dinner party I told you so's would this have? And finally, were public funds used? If you ask me, some things should remain imponderable mysteries. Monkeys and typewriters and their sordid interactions among them. 

Ten Foods That Frighten Me

1. Pecan pie flavored Pringles
2. Cool Whip
3. Sushi
4. Peanut butter and jelly sold in the same jar
5. Ortolan
6. Casu Marzu
7. Sour kraut
8. Lutefisk*
9. Raw oysters on the half shell
10. Tiger meat


*I know, I know, I'm half Norwegian. But I don't so much as touch the platter when it is passed around the table. Fish-fragrant jello served hot is something that I instincually avoid. Slathering it with butter doesn't help.

Deal With It

I Wore Fancy Socks

Nothing beats a cozy evening in with the girls. Suddenly winter has arrived with a vengeance. Snow and wind and single degree temps. Wine and good company melts it all away.

It's a Process

Coffee tastes so much more festive from a holiday themed mug. Yes, children, the decorating madness has begun. And it is caffeine fueled. It all starts innocently with a little tree foofing and before you know it the household electrical circuits have been totally overwhelmed with little strings of lights and there are Santas and snowmen and holiday hats everywhere! Check under the tables for egg nog nipping elves and order them back to work. 

Shifting Holiday Gears

When life gives you leftover turkey, well actually Karen did, make turkey pot pie! It was delicious. 

Tis The Season

Of letting go and leaving things behind. Things, and people, too, so it seems. The season of the turkey drop is upon us. The phenomenon of breaking up with a significant other now rather than suffer through until after Valentine's Day, and then break up after spending money on gifts and time with someone you'd rather not be with. Three years ago I wrote about this matter rather blithely but today I'm taking it more to heart. Because I know how difficult and painful breaking up can be, and it's only slightly better when you're the dumper rather than the dumpee. Bringing us to the photo of the ring in the upper left. It's mine. Originally those seven sparkly diamonds were set in yellow gold and the ring was presented to me by my husband to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. When we were in the process of ending our marriage I relegated it to the dark interior of my jewelry box. But then decided it was much too pretty to stay there and had the stones reset into white gold and had the ring sized to fit on my middle finger. No gesture intended. Except that I didn't want to wear it on my ring finger. I called it my emancipation ring and wore it proudly and regularly for most of the last seven years. Until this last summer when I took to leaving it in the shell shaped dish on my bathroom counter. I haven't worn it at all for a couple of months now. It's like I don't need it any more. Gold prices are up again and I've considered selling it. It might be time for me to truly part ways with it instead of just leaving it at home. Giving those pretty rocks and precious metal an opportunity to sparkle and shine on someone else's finger. Because isn't that what we should do with valuables, including the people we no longer feel the same way about? Allow them the opportunity to be treasured by somebody who deserves them. This all sounds a little self-serving but to me it's just a part of the ebb and flow, the fluid nature of life. It's about keeping things that are dear to you and letting go of that which no longer is. Oh, and I just watched Season 4, Episode 4 of Glee. Where pretty much everyone breaks up. The turkey drop is upon us.